


Wilted

by jiokra



Category: Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Empire's seizing of Bespin, Luke and Lando discuss their next plan of action, ignoring the chemistry that sparks between them as they meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreshBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/gifts).



The lightsaber thrummed, a quiet and persistent vibration that agitated Luke’s one good hand. A helmet rested beside his feet. Obi-Wan’s remote hovered around him, not a single blast firing, as if it too were awestruck from the events which had only just transpired. His fingers curled into a fist at his side—except these fingers were gone. Yoda’s teachings kept Luke calm as the phantom ache eased into the limb hanging from his shoulder. Luke switched off the lightsaber, a trickling along his spine as the disintegration hissed into tamed silence.

After reuniting with Leia and jumping to hyperspace, Luke needed a private moment to quell his brewing thoughts. Vader’s cloaked figure and the red blade of his lightsaber were everywhere he closed his eyes; with open eyes, Luke saw only the absence of Han behind the Falcon’s helm. His first sight of Lando at the cockpit had been an intriguing experience—after the loss of his hand and failed childhood dream of meeting his father, Luke welcomed the fleeting glimpse of a handsome man when after all that happened today, he’d least expected encountering someone like Lando. Yet after learning why Han did not sit before the helm, the excitement soured. Briefly, Luke had wondered why he bothered to leave Tatooine at all. Had he not, Han would have never begun this journey and might have still been alive. 

Suffice to say, the cockpit was full of sights Luke had rather not seen, so when the Falcon had lulled to a comfortable silence as they journeyed through hyperspace, Luke snatched a helmet and Obi-Wan’s remote before wandering through the ship in search of a private space. His search had led him to a supply room larger than his bedroom on Tatooine, with boxes piled high and a black table in the center, which was now muted grey from a layer of dust. 

He’d hoped testing out the remote’s training blasts with only one hand might center him. Lightsabers, adventure, the Force—it ought to help. Yet his life felt irrevocably altered since Bespin, and not even his curiosity for space travel and kidnapped princesses could quiet his mind from the horrors he’d seen. 

Through the Force, he felt for Leia. Upon finding her, he felt for Han. Once Han’s cold, vacant signature permeated the Force, Luke closed himself off, lost once again in the stillness surrounding him, the mockery of pain extending past his severed wrist. _A gift from father to son_ , he thought, and pondered on this. Yet his patience grew tested and his pondering cut short, for his failures usurped his feats, and he was too worn to merely think lest he dove into deep meditation. 

“Master Yoda,” he whispered, head shaking. “I heed your words, but I don’t have the strength to continue. I know you can still guide me. Please.” 

Of course, Yoda never came. Luke wondered if his doubt that Yoda even could was what led to his Master’s silence. 

“Yoda?” came a voice. “That some sorta strong ale?” 

Heart jumping, Luke controlled his outward appearance as Lando’s voice sounded from the entryway, the cadence slick and rugged, curling round his ear like smoke. Luke turned on his heel, gaze roaming as he took Lando in: cape billowing around his knees, a loose smirk upturning his lip, countenance shuttered and haunted. The cries of countless souls had swallowed Luke up on Bespin. Looking at Lando now, Luke knew that even his amateur handle of the Force had shielded him from the horrors Lando had felt as Vader seized the capital. 

“No, Yoda’s not—” said Luke, mumbling. “I mean—it could be. I wouldn’t know. My uncle—” 

Lando’s smirk hitched higher, and a warmth seeped into Luke’s abdomen. Talking about his aunt and uncle didn’t strike Luke as the impression he hoped to make on a stranger with an addictive smile. 

“That’s a shame.” Lando chuckled, tilting his chin slightly. His gaze lingered on Luke, yet nowhere near his face, roaming as his eyes drifted down. “Could’ve used a little something right about now.” 

Excitement blossomed within Luke. “Are you—” _flirting with me?_ he finished in thought. The dating scene on Tatooine might have been as dry and vacant as the sand dunes that made most of the planet uninhabitable, yet Luke had more sense than people gave him credit for. Luke stuck out a foot, lengthening his leg and swerving his hip, and remembered how suave Han looked whenever he did the same. _What am I doing?_ The guilt and pain he’d fought to set aside earlier hit him in a small, yet abrupt, wave. Locked on Lando’s grin, Luke continued the fight against the onslaught of images. _Please be flirting._

Lando hummed, nodding, and strolled into the room. Luke jolted, nearly losing grip on his lightsaber, and stood slack jawed as Lando sauntered toward him, cape flicking and eyes gleaming. Luke grew insecure, not believing it possible that Lando could ever see in Luke the allure Luke saw in him, yet a magnetic pull kept Luke from looking anywhere but at Lando’s lazy grin. Soon Lando came to a halt before Luke, well within the lightsaber’s striking zone, and his gaze roamed over Luke for a brief moment before he examined the remote still hovering beside Luke. 

Before Lando got to speak again with his soothing cadence, Luke said, “Vader’s going to sell Han. He got what he wanted out of him by terrorizing Leia.” 

That killed Lando’s smirk, grave lines etched down his face now. “He’ll sell him to Jabba the Hutt, I bet. Jabba’s been out for Han’s neck since Han skipped town without paying up.” Luke had feared that directing the conversation toward business and not the prior ambiguity would have damped Lando’s impact, yet the confident strides in Lando’s speech rendered that belief invalid. “Got any ideas, Jedi?” 

“I can feel Han,” said Luke. Then he quickly added when Lando flicked a curious eye his way: “Through the Force.” 

Lando shifted, and as he moved, his shoulders rolled, chest broadening. 

“I can feel an impression of him,” Luke reiterated, pulse racing. “As I did with Leia.” 

“I guess it’d be too good to be true for you to feel Jabba?” Though not impossible, the idea of such intimacy with a figure like Jabba the Hutt had a laugh quickly bubbling out of Luke. Soon Lando was smiling, small yet wicked, and the familiar prangs of anticipation and queasiness overwhelmed Luke. “So that’s a no,” said Lando, mirth receding, yet his eyes crinkled at the corners still. 

They lapsed into silence, and the longer the quiet persisted, the deeper the ache bled into his missing hand, the more vivid the image of Han’s becoming frozen in carbonite. 

“Say, Jedi,” said Lando, cutting through the horror, “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

Ice trickled down his spine, stomach twisting. Sometimes Luke felt like he was still stuck on Tatooine, wasting away on endless harvests where no one knew he existed but his aunt and uncle. “I’m Luke," he said, reciting it more than anything. "Luke Skywalker.” 

“Luke,” murmured Lando, the vowel elongated more than usual, as if Lando wanted to test out the sounds on his tongue. “I’m Lando Calrissian.” _I know_ , Luke thought morosely. “Well, Luke, it’s been a pleasure speaking with you, but I’m actually here on unofficial business from the princess.” 

His stomach twisted even more. “Unofficial?” 

“She seemed withdrawn after you left. I think she’d appreciate you there, even if you’re helping me pilot. I heard you’re talented in the cockpit.” 

Luke’s brain shut off, hearing ‘talented in the cockpit’ as something else—to which he’d reply, “I’d _love_ to show you my talents in _your_ cockpit.”—yet Luke bit his tongue, embarrassed at just thinking it. “I don’t know if I’m that talented,” he said instead, laughing nervously. “I didn’t see too much action on Tatooine. Where I’m from.” 

“A Jedi bad at flying? Now that’s something I gotta see.” Lando grinned, clapping a hand on Luke’s shoulder, and the force of it surprised Luke, sending him rocking on his heels. Lando’s palm warmed him, even with all the layers separating them, and the intoxicating buzz Luke felt there weakened his defenses. He ducked his head to hide a smile that snuck past him. “Come on, let’s go,” said Lando, tilting his head to catch his eye. “Chewie’s steering this thing, but he was fighting back sleep when I left.” 

Their conversation must not have lasted for more than a second, yet after a second in Lando’s presence, the trauma of today wasn’t as overwhelming. If Luke’s mere presence could do the same for Leia, it was worth it to return to the cockpit with all the sights and sounds that elicited unwanted memories. 

“All right,” said Luke, straightening and staring Lando head on. Lando was close—close enough to feel his breath on Luke’s face, the warmth tickling his nose. His eyes were dark and deep, and selfishly Luke thought that he wouldn’t mind turning in his seat, stealing a peek at those eyes while endless stars and dark matter surrounded them at all angles. 

They left, the remote trailing behind them. Dread coiled and knotted in Luke’s stomach, yet he focused on Yoda’s teachings and Lando’s warmth, a dawn breaking through and casting light on his weathered soul.


End file.
